Weekend distraction

She began to read her diary entries aloud.

"Monday morning: Sophie - she gave him a marked look (Sophie was her hot, posh, young secretary, all long legs and cut-glass vowels) - slides her manicured red nailed finger slowly up my bum as I lie on my desk without my knickers on, legs apart. Then she eats me out. Then she sits on my face and I have to eat her out."

He nodded. He didn't require enormous detail. Just the key facts, who, what and when.

He then struck her pussy with the strap. Hard.

She screamed. A cry of genuine anguish as the stiff leather impacted against her soft, sensitive flesh. She involuntarily closed her legs, as far as she could with them hooked over the arms of the chair, and her hands went to her pubis in a gesture of self defence and protection.

The pain was unbelievable. Even though she had endured this same ritual many times, the body has a great capacity to forget pain, and consequently the impact of the first stroke always took her breath away.

Her naked chest heaved as she gulped in air, her breasts, much to the delight of her tormentor, jiggling beautifully as she did so.

"Legs apart. Remove your hands." he commanded quiety, but with infinite authority "we've only just started. Monday evening?" he prompted her.

"I watched a film. "The Night Porter" after my daughter went to bed. I wanted to be Charlotte Rampling as she submits to Dirk Bogarde."

Whack, he struck her pussy again.

A she concluded her report on each fantasy, he again struck her pussy with the short leather strap. The strike was right across her naked clitoris. Each time she would moan and cry out.

Inevitably she would, again, try to close her legs as she absorbed the pain, and he would wait for her to open them again before asking her to continue reading. He was aiming, successfully, to create an almost Pavlovian association in her, between her masturbation and his punishment of her pussy.

And each time she opened her legs she was consenting to, indeed inviting, further punishment.

"Tuesday morning: Nothing - I overslept and didn't have time for a pre-work wank."

"Tuesday lunchtime: In the office lavatory. To make up for my missed morning wank. My secretary again."

"And what did she do?"

"She sat in my chair and made me kneel under the desk and eat her pussy."

Each time he asked her to tell him what she was fantasising about at the moment of orgasm. He knew that her mind could wander across many fantasies during a masturbation session, and that it would be rather too much work to record every sexual thought she had, but focusing on the moment of orgasm allowed the distillation of her most potent fantasies.

"Tuesday evening: Forced to work in a Soho brothel. Steady stream of seedy men. I have to let them spank me naked, and then suck them off without a condom. Sometimes they pay extra to come in my mouth.

Wednesday morning: Charlotte Rampling in The Night Porter again. Couldn't get that one out of my head!

Wednesday evening: I was a naked cocktail waitress at an upmarket private party in a London mansion. The guests were all wealthy men, dressed in dinner jackets. Each waitress had a chain around her neck, with a number on it. At the end of the evening the waitresses were auctioned-off to spend the night in one of the upstairs rooms with the highest bidder.

Thursday morning: Threesome with you and my PA. You take turns spanking me, and then fuck me at the same time - your cock in my cunt and her with a strapon up my arse."

As was often the case, she started to become more foul-mouthed - more Anglo Saxon - as she became more aroused

"Thursday afternoon: In court I fantasised about being summoned by the judge to his chambers after the case, where he spanked my fat bottom before fucking me. When I got back to my office I had to go to the lavatories to bring myself off.

Thursday evening: I stopped by the British Museum on the way home from Chambers. Ended up with a mixture of Ancient Egyptian, Greek and Roman slave girl fantasies. In every case I was subjected to vicious tortures and sexual abuse by powerful older men.

Friday morning: Refined some of the ideas from the previous night and now had to perform sexually with other slaves, male and female to entertain my masters.

Friday evening:" She looked at him. "This one is embarrassing. I had a fantasy about a pop singer" and she named a member of a well-known "boy band" who had had a somewhat less than stellar solo career.

She looked at him quickly and he raised an eyebrow "I know, I don't even like him. Don't laugh you bastard. I am just being honest" she laughed, breaking out of the "scene" for a moment.

"OK, I promise not to. But you get an extra stroke for calling me a bastard."

"Fuck you!"

"And another for that!"

"Ok, enough C-list boy band members - just promise never to mention it again." she said.

"I promise."

She went on, through the weekend and the next week, recounting her fantasies. Almost all with some common themes of submission and punishment, some mild, some horrific.

She recited all of these in a low submissive voice. They both knew that she didn't necessarily want to act out all these fantasies, although some she definitely would, and he made a mental note to enquire a bit more deeply about her precise relationship with her PA later.

But the slave girl and torture fantasies she knew, and he knew, in real life would be in the "horrific" category.

But she was, with him, acting out a sanitised and erotic version of her fantasies that scratched her submissive itch in a way that was sexy and safe, with a man she trusted and, dare she say it, loved.

For his part, he had never had such a strong emotional connection. The insight into her sexual mind, so deeply hidden in most people, even intimate lovers, was profound and profoundly erotic.

Finally they reached Thursday, the previous day. She recounted quite a detailed fantasy in which she was forced to work in a brothel, servicing both male and female clients, and in particular one day, as a punishment for servicing a particularly revolting client unsatisfactorily, causing him to complain to the madam, she was strapped to a flogging bench on all fours, head down, arse up, legs fastened wide apart, so that clients could, at will, whip and sodomise her.

As she finished confessing to this fantasy she received the final sickening blow to her, now red and swollen, pussy and then lay back panting in the chair.

She wasn't allowed to masturbate on the Friday of her visits to him, and she wouldn't even have considered breaking that rule.

The young man leant forward to admire his handiwork. Reaching out to feel the heat in her throbbing cunt.

She flinched as he touched her already parted lips and ran the end of his finger up to her clitoris. She was soaking wet. She always was after this warm up. Evidence, if any further was needed, of the eroticism of the punishment from her perspective.

The fact that she wasn't allowed any masturbation on Fridays meant that it was approaching twenty four hours since her last orgasm, and for her that was a long time.

She hadn't orgasmed during her pussy whipping. Sometimes she would, but not today.

"You may now touch yourself."

Her hands went to her pussy in relief and desperately she started to frig herself.

He sat back and watched. The sight of this mature, serious, woman with her cunt red and raw from the whipping, shamelessly masturbating, legs wide apart, was always extraordinary to him.

The contrast with a few hours earlier, demure and professional in the court room, arguing her case in front of the judge and jury. It fascinated him, the difference between the public, professional, and private, sexual, personae of ordinary people.

He suspected that she was a little unusual in spending the weekend submitting sexually to a man half her age, but he was quite sure that many other women had similar fantasies, even if they were not able to act them out within the confines of their relationships.

As she masturbated he stood and unbuttoned his fly to release ("Finally!" she thought) his heavy, straining, cock. He straddled her as she lay back in the armchair, and offered his member to her.

She took it into her grateful mouth. Her first touch of cock for two weeks. She revelled in its hardness, its taste, the seeping precum leaking onto her tongue.

She enveloped it with her lips and tongue. Trying to absorb touch, taste and smell all at once. Then he put his hands behind her head and, holding her, slowly thrust all the way back into her throat. She felt a gag reflex but he kept pushing, and she tried to open her throat as far as she could.

Then he withdrew.

"Just a taster."

He pushed her back into the armchair and climbed off her. He knelt in front of the armchair, between her spread legs, and opened her pussy lips with his hands. He then slid his naked cock inside her. She gasped as the hard length opened her up. Then, again, he slowly withdrew. She moaned in frustration.

"Another taster."

She was frantic with desire at this point, but she knew it was hopeless to object. He would do what he wanted to do, and she knew he could hold-off coming for a long time.

He stood up, and helped her to her feet. He was well over six feet tall, and towered over her petite five feet six inch frame. She stood awkwardly, gingerly, exploring the pain that still throbbed between her legs.

He ran his hands over her body. As a result of his rowing, despite his office job in the City, his large hands were rough and calloused and, from extensive past experience, she loved their touch on her tender body.

He pulled her naked body into his, and embraced her. Although she hadn't orgasmed she was highly aroused. She buried her head into his hard chest and started to nibble on his nipples. She felt for his cock. She wanted to take it in her hands, her mouth, her cunt. But she also knew this was not allowed, at least not yet. This was going too far.

He grasped her by the throat with his large strong, rough hand and held her. Then with the other hand he slapped her across her left cheek. Once again it wasn't particularly hard. They had very strict rules about marking her face. It wouldn't do for her to walk into court on Monday with a bruised face, so this was a firm, but symbolic, slap that made clear she had transgressed, but didn't actually hurt.

Nonetheless, symbolism is hugely important and she immediately ceased her attempts to get at his cock and became quietly submissive.

"You do not touch my cock without asking. You wait until I tell you to. You know that don't you?"

"Yes"

"Yes, what?"

"Yes sir."

"That's better."

"Now give me your wrists."

She was his sex slave. She chose to be his sex slave.

He had never had such an intimate connection with another lover. Likewise, neither had she.

Lying back, having her cunt whipped by this young man as she told him her private masturbatory fantasies was just about the most intimate thing she could imagine doing.

As he fastened the stiff leather cuffs around both of her wrists he looked her in the eye and asked " Are you ready?"

She swallowed and looked directly back at him. She gave a slightly strained smile, swallowed and nodded.

That wasn't enough for him.

"I need an answer."

"Yes, I am ready," and then added quietly "sir."

"Good."

She was inwardly amused by this exchange. She had come all the way from her office in the city, on the Tube, and then on foot to this flat in south London.

She made the same journey every other Friday. And each time he went through the same ritual as today.

She knew what was going to happen when she got there, and braving the Northern Line in the evening rush hour must, she felt, indicate some sort of intent, and consent!

But she supposed also that she was glad he did it. This was an unorthodox and slightly dangerous relationship. Nobody else knew she was there - she kept this part of her life secret from friends, family and colleagues and, given the nature of what was going to happen over the course of the weekend, she had to have an understanding of absolute trust with this man. So this double-checking, although slightly absurd, was also reassuring.

Of course, she had already had her cunt whipped, but the difference was that she was not restrained for that. She was lying back in an armchair and opening her legs for him to administer the punishment.

The next stage was different.

He held up her cuffed wrists and clipped them together. Then he clipped them to a hook attached to a rope that hung down from a bolt in the centre of the high ceiling.

This bolt, from which a large chandelier had once hung, was the type that actually runs through the ceiling into the structure of the building and the concrete floor above, so it was immensely strong.

Hanging from the bolt was a pulley and winch with a remote control. With the flick of a switch the pulley whined and gathered up the slack in the rope, stretching her arms above her head and leaving just the tips of her toes touching the floor.

Privately she was slightly amused by the geekiness of the set-up. Great pains had been taken in a "boys and their toys" sort of way. However she would never admit that. Not because of the punishment that would almost certainly be meted out to her as a result - she might actually enjoy that - no, the real reason was that he was so proud of the set-up that she didn't want to hurt his feelings!

He then attached the leather ankle cuffs to a spreader bar, about three feet long so, as she was hauled up with her arms stretched above her head, her legs were held spread wide apart Thus she was suspended, naked, helpless and at his mercy.

For her part, as the wrist and ankle cuffs tightened, and she was lifted off the floor, suspended helplessly from the ceiling, she felt an overwhelming sense of peace and relaxation.

Now her punishment would begin. She couldn't do anything about it She was completely in his power and he was going to punish her mercilessly.

She always felt this way. Every time she visited. She couldn't really explain it, except to say that for this period in her life, every fortnight, for a few hours, she didn't have to make any decisions.

She didn't have to care for anyone.

She didn't have to deal with obnoxious clients or colleagues.

She didn't have to worry about her teenage daughter, whom she loved to distraction but was a constant source of stress and worry.

And she didn't have to deal with her ex-husband who, frankly, was a pain in the arse but with whom, as the father of her child, she felt obliged to maintain civil relations.

Here she just had to "be". It was intensely relaxing.

From the low table he picked up a whip. He had several, but she knew this to be his favourite and she, and her body, were very familiar with it.

He had bought it on a trip to Morocco. It was made of light brown leather and composed a solid leather handle about 9 inches long and an inch in diameter, to which were attached several, probably a dozen, leather thongs, each about 3 feet long. Along the length of each of these thongs were knots at intervals of 6 inches or so.

He showed her the whip, and offered it to her mouth for her to kiss. He made her open her mouth and fellate the leather handle.

Then he threaded the sheaf of leather thongs between her legs and pulled it up into her pussy. He pulled it slowly backwards and forwards, maintaining considerable upward force. The leather thongs scourged her delicate flesh, each leather knot making its presence felt.

She gasped as the rough leather ravished her. Then, grasping the thongs firmly in each hand, he lifted her off the floor via the sheaf of thongs under her crotch taking her full weight on her pussy, the leather splitting her open.

She moaned and looked at him imploringly.

He let her down and lifted the thongs to his mouth and nose. They were wet with her juices. He rubbed them over her face

"That is the taste of a wanton slut who wants to be whipped" and ran the whip over her shoulders and breasts, down to her buttocks.

Then he stepped to one side and gave a few practice flicks of the whip. She could hear the familiar sound as it cut through the air. Soon to cut into her flesh.

Then one final " Are you ready?"

"Yes sir."

He lifted the whip and then slashed it across her beautiful naked back. It was a relatively gentle stroke to begin with, but still she gasped at the shock and pain, as the leather thongs, with the cruel knots, cut into her flesh, sending a thousand points of fire across her back.

Then the second, and the third. He didn't speak as he methodically whipped her back from her shoulders to the tops of her buttocks. The strokes increasing in strength as he did so.

And then down onto her bottom, still harder now - the extra flesh here could absorb more punishment - and he delighted as her cheeks wobbled at the impact of the leather.

Then he moved on, further down, to the backs of her thighs.

She grunted and moaned as the whip relentlessly struck her. She never screamed. He had noticed this before. She never screamed.

Head back, and mouth open, as she breathed deeply to manage the pain as he increased the intensity. This hurt. This really hurt. But she also knew that this was just the beginning.

When the thongs occasionally wrapped around from her back and ended-up catching her breast, the fiery lightning bolt of pain that resulted reminded her that, when he had finished with her back, he was going, as always, to move to her front and that, when the whip started to strike her breasts, belly and pussy, the pain would be taken to a whole new level.

As she reflected on this, she could feel her pussy moistening in anticipation.

As feared, and anticipated, he moved to her front. The whip cutting across her thighs and up across her belly and breasts. She was, she realised, vain enough, in the midst of the pain, to note that the way her body was pulled, and stretched taught, by the suspension, had the effect of making her tummy, and its slight pot belly, flatten-out and her breasts, stretched taught over her rib cage, lost their sagginess. She laughed at herself and her vanity before surrendering once more to the pain.

He was in no hurry. He clearly relished what he was doing. He would occasionally stop to admire his handiwork, caress a breast, or a buttock. Slide a finger into an orifice, usually anus or vagina, either tasting it or offering it to her to taste herself.

He would whisper in her ear "Are you enjoying your punishment? Are you a slut? Are you a whore?"

She could feel his thick hard erection pressing into her body as he leant in close.

And then finally the crescendo as he whipped harder and faster, back, breasts, buttocks, belly, legs, and between her legs to once again torture her already abused cunt.

Now she moaned. Still she didn't scream, but she moaned as one who is broken would moan. And he continued to whip her until, finally, she sobbed, hanging from her wrists.

Inner thighs wet, as the juices of her arousal flowed unrestricted down her legs.

With her pussy so well lubricated he knelt before her and inserted the handle of the whip, the thick, nine inch long leather handle, into her pussy. She winced as the thick leather phallus - for it had clearly been designed as such - forced its way into her belly.

She managed to take it all and the flails of the whip hung obscenely protruding from her stretched cunt.

He stood up and faced her "Now make sure you hold it in. Don't let it fall out or I will punish you again."

She knew from previous experience that she REALLY didn't want him to punish her cunt again. Much as she enjoyed, or at least needed, the pain, there could be too much of a good thing. So she gripped the leather handle as firmly as she could - reflecting that it was, if nothing else, good discipline for her pelvic floor muscles.